


12 Days of DBZmas

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8996500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: When Vegeta catches his wife being secretive, what's a Saiyan prince to think, other than the worst? A Christmas Special oneshot based on The Twelve Days Of Christmas.





	1. 12 hours o’ training

**On the 12** ** th ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**12 hours o’ training**

 

Bulma was brought awake as the bed dipped, her heavy husband trying to slip surreptitiously under the covers. She blinked open bleary eyes. It was completely black. Checking the time, Bulma felt an anger well in her when the bright green time of 2:28 glowed back at her from her alarm clock.

“What on EARTH have you been doing all this time?” she hissed at Vegeta.

He sighed, his hopes of making it unnoticed into bed thoroughly dashed. “What do you _think_ I’ve been doing?” he snapped back. 

Of course, he had been training in the damn GR all friggin’ day after she had told him she wanted a word with him. And what did her brave, strong, fearless husband do? Did he offer to listen to her, offer to be available or even show the slightest interest or acknowledgement of her request? No, of course not. This was Vegeta, Prince of All Pain-In-The-Asses, she was talking about. Vegeta had just up and left to train in solitude for half the day, leaving Bulma to fume.

She should have been used to it by now. But this time it was different. And she was pissed.

“I TOLD you I wanted to talk to you when you had a minute,” she grouched at him.

“I was busy.”

“Too busy to talk to your WIFE?”

“…”

“…Forget it,” she huffed and rolled on her side away from him. 

More silence followed, which Vegeta finally broke. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“It’s too late for talking,” Bulma replied. “I need to sleep. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”

The silence that followed was tense, awkward. Bulma squeezed her eyes shut, annoyed with him, and at herself. 

A warm hand rested on her hip, and a moment later Vegeta’s large, powerful frame shifted behind her back, spooning her. Bulma felt her resolve to be angry at him start to weaken.

“You know,” she grumbled, relaxing into his warm embrace, “you should be making the most of this.”

“The most of what?”

“This time we have together. It won’t always be like this, you know. You should appreciate it before it’s gone.”

He was silent for a while, but finally his hand on her side tightened. “Why would it?” he asked gruffly. “Do you not trust I can keep us safe from any threat?”

Bulma sighed. Of course he would think she was talking about fighting. Then again, after Frieza, and Cell, and Buu, and Zamasu, could she really blame him? “There are some things even you can’t prevent from happening, Vegeta.”

He said nothing. His fingers squeezed against her more possessively.

“Anyway, it’s late,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “I’m tired. Good night, Vegeta.”

“…Good night.”

 

* * *

 

_**~xox~** _

_**beta-read by** **Marcella-Duchamp** _


	2. 11 ring tones playing

**On the 11** ** th ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**11 ring tones playing**

 

It wasn’t a new sensation for him, being woken up. It might have been, once, when he was living mostly on his own, or when he rose before the sun to train. But sharing a bed with Bulma had changed that. While she wasn’t an early riser by nature, her work sometimes meant AM meetings, or early mornings to complete an important project. 

So it wasn’t a total surprise when Vegeta was woken in the pre-dawn by his wife as she got out of bed. What _was_ odd was that there was no alarm, no Trunks calling, no cursing or grumbling as Bulma struggled to accept getting up at such a ridiculous hour in the morning. 

Bulma slipped out of bed and into their ensuite bathroom, stealthy as a sprite.

Vegeta drifted on the edge of falling back asleep when her blasted phone started ringing. He frowned, waiting for his wife to come running out to answer it.

She didn’t.

And it rang.

And rang.

And _rang_.

Finally, on the ninth ring, it stopped. He sighed and rolled over. In the following quiet, he started mentally playing over their conversation from the night before, wondering if Bulma was still mad at him because that sometimes led to some pretty interesting, as she called it, ‘make-up sex’. However he didn’t get very far with that line of thought because her goddamn phone started ringing again. 

Vegeta growled, all notions of intimacy banished by the ear-splitting sound. He sat up, snatched up her phone, and answered it on the second tone.

“WHAT?!”

“I… er… M-Mrs. Briefs?” an unfamiliar voice stammered.

“She’s _busy_. This is her husband. What do you want?”

“O-oh. Well… Please let your wife know that Dr. Bensen has her results.”

“Results?” Vegeta asked, surprised. He wasn’t aware of his wife needing any. Was it for a project? She did know a lot of ‘doctors’ of the science variety.

“I’m afraid, due to our privacy policy, that I can only relay that information to Mrs. Briefs personally,” the voice told him.

“Tch. Don’t you think it’s a little early to be bothering my wife with this nonsense?” Vegeta growled.

“W-well, she did specify that we call right away… Just please tell your wife that Dr. Bensen called.”

“Whatever. Fine,” Vegeta snapped, then ended the call. 

Irritated that he was reduced to playing messenger, Vegeta got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He raised a fist to knock on the door and yell at Bulma when, over the whirr of the bathroom fan, he heard her.

Vomiting.

Vegeta rarely felt worried. There wasn’t much that could trouble him, not when he could literally blow up most of the known universe’s problems with the flick of his little finger. But standing there, outside the bathroom door, with his wife throwing up for some unknown reason, after getting a phone call from an unknown doctor about some unknown results, and after having had a strange conversation with her about _appreciating the time they had together while they could_ , Vegeta was suddenly feeling very worried.

He knocked on the door, gently. “Bulma…?”

She cleared her throat and flushed the toilet. “…Just putting on my face. It’ll be a minute!” she called with forced sweetness. Trying to hide the fact that she was sick.

Lying to him.

…What the hell.

 

~xox~

 


	3. 10 times (dis)respected

**On the 10** ** th ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**10 times (dis)respected**

 

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, Vegeta turned from the bathroom door and headed out of their room. He walked purposefully down the hall, Bulma’s phone still held tightly in his hand. He made his way to his son’s room and shook the young teenager awake.

“Nng, wha’?” Trunks groaned, slowly coming to. Poor reflexes. The kid was getting soft. Vegeta would have see to that later. 

“Boy!” he said sharply, and to his gratification, Trunks startled upright.

“Y-yes?”

“How do I get this damn thing to show the last number that called?” Vegeta demanded, thrusting the phone towards his son.

Trunks rubbed at his eyes before taking the phone shoved in his face. He frowned down at it. “…Isn’t this Mom’s phone?” He asked.

Vegeta glared at him. “Congratulations. What do you want, a fucking medal for remembering whose phone is whose?”

Trunks grimaced at his father’s sarcasm. “Well the wallpaper kind of gave it away.”

Vegeta just glared back at his son. The fuck was a _wallpaper_? Trunks must have seen his confusion, for the boy held up the device, showing a picture of the three of them, with Bulma’s parents, gathered around a yule tree. Vegeta remembered the occasion; Bulma had somehow convinced him into posing for the photo last Christmas. Vegeta stared at the scene, momentarily lost to memory; the taste of eggnog (which had been awful) lingered in his mouth, the feel of wool on his fingers as he slipped them under Bulma’s sweater, the excitement on Trunks’ face when he opened up his presents… Vegeta scowled, pushing aside any sentimentality the photograph brought up inside him. “Unless that’s going to help me get the damn phone number, I don’t care what she has on there,” he said, looking away.

Trunks rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. So why are we looking at mom’s phone anyway? She should know how to do this.”

“And?”

“So why isn’t she?”

“Because I’m telling _you_ to do it.”

Trunks pulled a face. “…Are you guys fighting again?”

Vegeta’s eye twitched. “Boy. We do _not_ fight.”

“Riiight.”

“Can you do it or not?!”

“Of course I can. But mom’s gonna be pissed if-” Trunks stopped cold, and looked guiltily at his father to see if Vegeta had noticed him cursing. He balked at the cold expression on his father’s face, and hung his head. “ _You_ swear,” Trunks muttered contritely.

“We’re not talking about _me_ , smart ass,” Vegeta replied. “Rules are rules, your mother doesn’t want you cussing.”

Trunks winced. “Well, mom’s going to be _really mad_ if she finds out we were on her phone.”

“Then she had better not find out, had she?” Vegeta threatened. 

“You want me to _lie_ to _mom_?”

Vegeta felt a particularly nasty smile start to curl his lips. “If it will alleviate your conscience, don’t see it as ‘wanting’ to lie. See it as a necessary act in order to save yourself from a beating the next time we train in the gravity chamber.”

“Tch, what else is new?” Trunks grumbled, but he lowered his eyes and started punching buttons on his mother’s phone. A minute later he handed the device back to his father. “There. That was the last incoming call,” he said, a phone number on the screen.

Vegeta grunted in acknowledgement. He turned to leave, but paused. Trunks was already lying back down, his back to the room. Vegeta supposed the boy had earned the right to sleep in. If Vegeta were religious, he might have said a silent prayer of thanks that the kid had inherited his mother’s smarts. Vegeta reached out and placed his hand on the boy’s lilac hair. “Good work.”

Trunks didn’t even turn to look at his father. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell mom I had any part in it. She’ll cut my allowance.”

Vegeta lingered, letting his fingers briefly brush through his son’s hair before his hand fall away. He stared at Trunks for a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of the boy’s side as Trunks started to fall back asleep. 

Vegeta raised his fist and brought it down. 

Trunks rolled out of the way at the last moment. He sat up, giving his father an irritated look. “DAD!” he protested grumpily.

Vegeta barely contained his pride at his son’s quick reflexes. The boy wasn’t a total wash out after all. But instead of praising him, Vegeta scowled. “You barely dodged that, boy. I wasn’t even at half speed. You need more training.”

“Da~d, stop~!” Trunks whined again, flopping down on his bed, smashing his face into his pillow and pulling his blanket over his head. “It’s too early for this!”

Vegeta grunted, biting back his retort that there was no such thing as ‘too early’ for the enemy. He had more important things to do now than lecture his son. Vegeta let Trunks sleep, and slipped back into the hall. 

He hit the call button on his wife’s phone.

 

~xox~

 


	4. 9 years reflected

**On the 9** ** th ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**9 years reflected**

 

After a few rings, someone answered. “Good morning. Sacred Hearts Health, how may I help you?”

Vegeta hung up. 

A horrible feeling started twisting his gut. He headed to the main living area of their house and found one of the family laptops on the kitchen table. Opening it, he searched for Sacred Hearts Health. Just as he suspected, it was a hospital, with only the finest doctors and richest clientele. Just the kind of place Bulma would frequent.

If she were sick.

Sick enough to be keeping it a secret from him.

To be throwing up _right now_ and putting on a brave face about it.

To be talking about appreciating what little time they had left together…

_There are some things even you can’t prevent from happening, Vegeta._

Like _hell_ there was. He hadn’t spent nine years married to the woman, and something like 15 with her in his life in some capacity, softening the anger, the self-loathing, the psychopathic violence in his heart, only to have her snatched away by a goddamn worthless human illness. 

Not on his fucking watch.

 

~xox~

* * *

_proof-read by Marcella-Duchamp_


	5. 8 friends requested

**On the 8** ** th ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**8 friends requested**

 

If Vegeta had to begrudgingly admit anything about _Kakarott_ , it was that he was good for his instant transmission trick. Goku popped into existence right besides him after Vegeta had mentally called out to the third class saiyan to get his worthless ass over unless Goku wanted the death of a nearby city on his hands. An idle threat, _mostly_ , but Vegeta didn’t want to risk Goku ignoring him or pleading ‘busy’. This was, as far as Vegeta was concerned, a matter of life or death.

“Vegeta,” Goku greeted, looking half asleep and less cheery than usual. “I don’t really like you threatening people just to get me over here.”

“Maybe if you were more reliable I wouldn’t have to,” Vegeta snarked back. The day he let Goku chastise him would be a very ill day indeed. “Besides, this is far more important than anything you could possibly be doing.”

Goku sighed, giving up arguing the point, as Vegeta knew he would. Soft. 

“So, what’s so important, Vegeta?”

“It’s Bulma. She’s-,” Vegeta suddenly found the words sticking in his throat, his usual bluntness deserting him. This was a first.

Goku had the audacity to raise a brow. Anything that could make Vegeta hesitate was going to be monumental. 

Vegeta clenched his fists and forced the words to come. “She’s sick. I think… she’s dying.”

“What?” Goku asked, taking a step back in shock. “No… that can’t be. Says who?”

“Says _me_!” Vegeta snarled. The anger came bubbling up, held back since that morning and now spewing over. Vegeta told Goku everything, of Bulma’s vomiting, the phone call from the hospital, and her cryptic conversation the night before.

“It could mean anything, Vegeta,” Goku reassured, but his face belied his words. Goku looked worried, and the expression struck Vegeta like an ice wind. He had rarely seen Goku disquieted. Even in the midst of battle, Goku was always aggravatingly optimistic. “There’s still a lot we don’t know,” Goku added uncertainly.

“ _I_ know,” Vegeta snarled. “She’s MY wife. You think I don’t know when something is wrong?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Vegeta regretted them. Because he hadn’t, had he? He hadn’t known a goddamn thing was wrong.

How long? How long had she been keeping this from him? Days? Weeks? _Months?_ Had she been suffering in silence, sick, scared, alone, while he went about life as if his partner wasn’t withering away from the inside out? 

A large, warm hand rested on his shoulder. Vegeta gave Goku a nasty side eye. “Don’t touch me, you clown,” he snarled, and pulled his shoulder out from under Goku’s grip. “I don’t need pity, I need a solution!”

Goku didn’t look the least bit offended. He never did, taking Vegeta’s nasty attitude in stride. “We’ll figure something out, Vegeta. Bulma’s smart and resourceful. I’m sure she has got it under control, that’s probably why she hasn’t said anything to you. She’s handling it.”

Vegeta winced as if sliced through the middle. That sounded exactly like something Bulma would do, and it only made him feel worse. Of course she would handle everything, leaving her own husband out of the loop. Unnecessary. Unneeded. He wasn’t good enough to confide in or rely upon for emotional support. And could he blame her? He had the emotional complexity of a goddamn honey badger.

In fact… he had outright dismissed her just yesterday. On his way to the GR to train she had caught him, mentioning she wanted a word. He hadn’t given it much thought, hadn’t considered the matter important because if it was, surely Bulma would have just come right out and said whatever was on her mind like she always did. He soon forgot all about it, lost to katas and ki blasts. It never occurred to him that whatever was troubling her might be important, that she couldn’t just blurt it out… Oh no. She had _wanted_ to confide in him. But he hadn’t been willing to listen. If Bulma was handling her illness on her own, it was because he had forced her to do so.

Vegeta hadn’t felt this kind of all consuming guilt since he had gone Majin.

“Senzu,” he growled softly.

“Huh?” Goku asked.

“We need to get her senzu.” Something, they needed to do _something_. He needed to do something to alleviate this guilt and whatever pain his wife was enduring on her own.

“Vegeta, that won’t work if it’s an illness, but…”

“But _WHAT_?”

Goku looked thoughtful, then he smiled and gave Vegeta the thumbs up. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ve got a plan. I’m going to round up the guys and-”

“Kakarott, you idiot, I don’t want the whole fucking world to know about my wife’s condition.”

“Don’t worry, Vegeta!” Goku grinned, and put his two fore fingers to his brow and blipped out of existence before Vegeta could swear at him some more. 

Vegeta didn’t have a lot of confidence in Goku’s plan, but just knowing the other saiyan had his back and was doing _something_ was… kind of reassuring.

Ugh. It was disgusting how soft this planet had made him.

 

~xox~

* * *

 


	6. 7 drones awoken

**On the 7** ** th ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**7 drones awoken**

 

Vegeta sat at the kitchen table, a hand pressed over his mouth, watching his wife as surreptitiously as possible. For all intents and purposes Bulma looked perfectly fine, like she hadn’t been throwing up earlier. She caught him staring and smiled his way over her steaming mug of-

Tea.

Since when did Bulma drink _tea_ and not _coffee_ in the morning?

“Are you okay?” she asked. _He_ should be the one asking _her_ that. But he hadn’t touched his breakfast, a troubling sign for a Saiyan with their normally insatiable appetites. Vegeta’s stomach was churning with increasing anxiety, unable to handle the thought of food. He looked down at where Bulma had taken his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers.

He didn’t deserve her.

 _She_ was comforting _him_. Like she always did. Like he never did her.

It was a bitter to pill to swallow.

He so desperately wanted to ask her, demand what the fuck was going on. It was on the tip of his tongue, all he had to do was open his mouth and speak…

He couldn’t. He chickened out, the fear of what her answer might be _crippling_.

He, warrior, prince, God. Afraid.

Vegeta pushed up from the table and headed out. “Going to train,” he announced before his self loathing and anxiety for her condition could suffocate him.

She sighed. The sound raked down his back, chasing him out the door. “Of course.”

Vegeta didn’t look back as he headed to the GR. He didn’t bother changing, just punched in 500 times Earth’s gravity and activated the training drones. He had a lot of pent-up emotions he needed to vent, and until that clown Kakarott came back with whatever _brilliant_ scheme he had concocted, Vegeta intended to vent _a lot_.

 

~xox~

 


	7. 6 bones a broken

**On the 6** ** th ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**6 bones a broken**

 

“Vegeta. Are you joining us for lunch?”

Vegeta glanced at the screen in the GR, seeing his wife’s face. He wiped the sweat from his brow and lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. He took a moment to catch his breath. The drones were paused in their attack, a safety feature Bulma had installed so that her calls wouldn’t distract him and cause any undue injuries.  

“In a minute,” he answered. 

The screen went dark.

Vegeta hovered in the solitude of the GR, his shoulders rising and falling, his lungs struggling to drag in enough air against the crushing gravity. What the hell was he doing? Being here was tantamount to running away. He was no goddamn coward. 

A beep alerted him to the drones resuming their attack routine. He swore, barely dodging a laser blast. That irritated him. That irritated him _a lot_.

Screaming, Vegeta unleashed a world of anger, frustration and bitterness, and took it all out on the poor little drones. 

A few minutes later he trudged back into the house. The drones were completely destroyed. He had left them on the floor of the GR, not wanting to trouble his sick wife with their repair. Already late, Vegeta didn’t wash up, heading straight for the kitchen.

“Oh my god, Vegeta,” Bulma said, rising from her seat when she saw him.

He looked down at himself. He was drenched in sweat, nothing exceptional there.

“Your hands!”

Vegeta raised his hands and saw the damage. He hadn’t put his gloves on. Clearly a mistake given how aggressive he had been against the drones. His hands were torn up, dripping blood, and his right hand looked especially… off. Mangled. That might explain the searing pain he was feeling.

“Whoa, brutal,” Trunks enthused from the table.

Vegeta thinned his mouth, not as impressed with his injuries as his son was. This wasn’t the result of intense training. This was losing control. 

“Let’s get you fixed up,” Bulma said, clucking sympathetically over his hands. Vegeta tolerated it and let her lead him to the medical bay.

She had him sit on a gurney and went about gathering antiseptic and bandages. It had been a long time since she needed to do this for him. 

“So, what’s gotten into you?” she asked as she irrigated his bloodied knuckles with saline.

He glanced up from their hands. She was looking right at him. Her eyes were sharp, boring right through him; nothing got past her, did it? Fuck, she was as clever as she was beautiful. Bulma really would have made for a great queen.

Vegeta looked askance, flexing his hands. What was he supposed to say?

That he was sorry he was a terrible husband?

That he didn’t mean to be emotionally unavailable?

That he didn’t want her to die, and the thought of her leaving this world was _wrecking_ _him_?

“Gosh, Vegeta, I think you broke some bones,” Bulma mused, prodding his right hand.

He grabbed her. 

She startled. “Sorry, did that hurt-”

He cut her off by pulling her in, hugging her tightly to his chest.

“Vegeta…?”

He buried his face in her neck, pushing away the odor of saline and antiseptic, replacing them her with her own feminine smell. He wanted to burn the scent of her into his senses, wanted to always remember how she felt in his arms, so slender and soft, delicate, but he knew she had her own hidden strength, not physical but emotional, a strength he lacked and could only find in her arms.

She hugged him back, brushing her fingers through his hair. “Vegeta, you’re worrying me,” she said softly as she cradled him. “What’s wrong?”

“…What did Dr. Bensen say?” he croaked.

“Wha… How do you…?”

He tightened his arms around her, giving her a last squeeze. He leaned back, finally looking her square in the eyes. “Whatever the results, we will find a way,” Vegeta vowed to her. “If Kakarott can’t find an answer here, I will venture into space and scour the universe until I find a cure. I swear it, Bulma.”

“A cure?” she asked, puzzled, her brows rising. “Vegeta, what on Earth-?”

There was a soft pop, and suddenly Goku was standing in the room with them, Dende at his side.

“Hey, guys!” Goku greeted cheerily.

* * *

 

~xox~

 


	8. 5 dragon balls!

**On the 5** ** th ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**5 dragon balls!**

 

“Son? Dende?” Bulma asked, her eyes growing big, stunned by their sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?”

“Dende agreed to help,” Goku said cheerily. “And if he can’t fix you, don’t worry, because the rest of the gang are looking for the dragon balls. We just need to find two more.”

Vegeta felt something ease inside him. Right, the little green Namekian was a healer, and the dragon balls could grant almost any wish. Surely now they could cure Bulma’s illness? Vegeta tried not to get too excited, knowing full well that there were always caveats to these things, and with his luck, both the Namekian and the eternal dragon were going to pull some ‘it’s out of my power’ bull shit. But if the dragon balls couldn’t directly heal Bulma, a wish from Shenron would surely grant them the knowledge of where a cure could be found, wouldn’t it? It was a promising lead, better than nothing. Goku had actually come through for him. Wonders never did cease to amaze.

“Fix me?” Bulma repeated, utterly bewildered. “Alright, just what in the heck are you boys going on about?” she demanded, looking at Goku, then to her husband for an explanation. 

Vegeta gave Goku and Dende one quick glance before returning his attention to his wife. He cleared his throat, not happy to be having this conversation in front of an audience. “I know you’re sick.”

“Sick?”

Vegeta nodded, although the surprised look on his wife’s face was starting to make him feel uncertain. “I heard you in the bathroom this morning and… Sacred Hearts called.”

Bulma’s brows rose and the corner of her mouth rose in a smirk. 

Why was she smirking? What the hell?

“Wait. Let me get this right,” Bulma said, her voice filled with amusement. “You heard me vomiting and answered my phone call from the hospital and, _without asking me_ , came to the conclusion that I’m sick?”

“Dying, actually,” Goku interjected.

Vegeta shot him an irritated look.

Bulma laughed, her eyes dancing. “Oh honey, is this why you’ve been so despondent today? You thought I was dying?” she asked sweetly, her hand smoothing over his chest.

Vegeta felt heat rise to his cheeks. He was feeling like an idiot, and it wasn’t something he relished. “Well, _aren’t_ you?” he demanded hotly.

“No!” Bulma laughed. 

Vegeta fought against a sudden onslaught of light-headedness, his fingers tightening over her hand. _Grateful_. Fuck, he was so completely grateful. It took him a moment to compose himself, swallowing back the overwhelming relief that his wife wasn’t dying. “Then what results were you waiting for?” he finally asked, struggling to hold it together.

Bulma smiled mischievously at him. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Her grin widened, and she hugged him. “Vegeta. I’m pregnant!”

* * *

 

~xox~

 


	9. 4 dino steaks

**On the 4** ** th ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**4 dino steaks**

 

Vegeta landed lightly in their backyard despite the giant, dead dinosaur slung over his shoulder. He dropped it to the ground and headed into the kitchen. Trunks was there, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“Where’s your mother?” Vegeta demanded.

“Watching TV,” Trunks replied. “Good hunting?”

“Go see for yourself,” Vegeta said, and walked through the kitchen towards the living room. Sure enough, Bulma was curled up on the couch, a blanket pulled over her feet. The TV was on, but her focus was on her tablet that rested on top of her cute round belly. Vegeta approached her from behind the couch, putting a hand on her soft hair.

“Okay?” he asked her gruffly.

“Mm,” she replied, sketching out some new design or other.

Vegeta indulged himself and leaned in, kissing the top of her head. She smelt good. It must have been the pregnancy, but something about her scent had changed. It enveloped him, pulling at his stomach, making him feel unusually possessiveness. “I brought fresh meat,” he told her softly.

That got her attention. Bulma looked up at him. “Paozusaurus?”

He smiled. “Only the best for my wife.”

Bulma craned her neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, honey.” She turned her tablet off and put her hands over belly. “I shouldn’t be surprised your child would have me craving meat so badly.”

Vegeta kept his face pressed close to her hair. He lowered his voice suggestively. “If you’re craving meat, I-”

“Ew, gross, _please_ ,” Trunks begged, making a disgusted face as he entered with a steaming mug of tea. 

Vegeta thinned his mouth and stood up.

“Thanks, sweety,” Bulma said as she accepted the tea from her son. “Your father was talking about dino steak.”

“Riiight. I’m only choosing to believe that to spare you the therapy bills later on,” Trunks drawled as he left.

Vegeta glared after Trunks’ exit. “That boy has a smart mouth. It’s going to get him in trouble one day.”

Bulma snorted. “I wonder who he could have learned that from?”

“His smart mouthed mother.”

“I was thinking his big mouthed father.”

“Hn,” Vegeta replied, and leaned down to kiss the back of Bulma’s neck. “Want to see what I can do with this mouth?”

Bulma tilted her head to the side to better accommodate him. “Mm, maybe after lunch. Don’t want to keep your baby waiting. I feel like I could eat four entire steaks.”

Vegeta grunted and stood. “You should eat the heart,” he told her.

Bulma scrunched her nose. “That’s barbaric.”

“It’s muscle. And it’s a Saiyan delicacy.”

“Mm,” she replied, sipping her tea, her attention already back on her tablet.

Vegeta started to leave her to it. He paused by the doorway, watching his wife draw, her short bangs falling over her eyes, her belly swollen with their child. Something curled about his heart and _squeezed_ , and he almost smiled.

He turned and left to carve up the dead dinosaur.

* * *

 

~xox~

 


	10. 3 hushed words

**On the 3** ** rd ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**3 hushed words**

 

_“Vegeta!”_

Vegeta dashed into his wife’s study, finding her hunched on the floor, a hand cupping her very pregnant belly. She glanced up at him, her face scrunched in pain.

“I think it’s time.”

Already? But she was two weeks early…

Vegeta kept his worry to himself, and in a heartbeat had her in his arms. He took her to their bedroom, grabbing a blanket to wrap around her, then picked up the bag she had prepared for just this occasion.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Trunks,” Bulma gasped through her pain, clutching his neck.

“The boy can fend for himself.” 

Vegeta enveloped them in his aura before flying out into the winter night’s sky. It would be faster and safer to fly than taking conventional transportation. Vegeta flew at a steady pace, keeping a close eye on his wife. Bulma had calmed down, her pain temporarily subsided. They flew in silence, giving Vegeta time he would rather not have to dwell on the upcoming birth. He had done his homework these past months. Barely on the sidelines for his first child’s birth, Vegeta wanted to ensure that _this_ time he was there for Bulma. In doing so, he had learned more than he ever thought he would care to know about female reproduction, about how brutal birth could be, and just how concernedly fragile humans were.

Bulma suddenly cried out and doubled up in his arms.

“Bulma?” he asked, alarmed.

“Ow, hurts,” she groaned. Vegeta’s mouth thinned, knowing there was little he could do to ease her through this. Being powerless didn’t sit well with him.

“Hold me as tightly as you need. Your pathetic human arms won’t hurt me,” he told her.

Bulma laughed weakly, squeezing tighter. 

“…I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice so soft and strained it was almost lost in the wind.

He tightened his arms around her. “Of course you can. You’ve done it before,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I was a lot younger then,” she confided.

Vegeta couldn’t argue that. She was no longer in her prime child-bearing years, but Dr. Bensen had assured them that Bulma was in good health, and could carry a baby full term. But she knew that, repeating it wouldn’t comfort her. Nevertheless, Vegeta felt compelled to put her ease, to support her the same way she always did him. “…You’re not alone this time. I’m here.”

Bulma looked at him, surprised, opening her mouth to respond when another contraction took her. She groaned and buried her face in his neck, squeezing him for support. 

“Ow, Vegeta…”

He cradled her head against him, and whispered three little words into her ear he rarely vocalized, hurrying them to their destination.

 

~xox~

 


	11. 2 sweaty palms

**On the 2** ** nd ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**2 sweaty palms**

 

Within minutes of arriving, Bulma was admitted to her private room at Sacred Hearts. Vegeta didn’t leave her side, glaring at the nurse when she suggested he wait in the accompanying lounge. Only Bulma had the authority to dismiss him. Bulma was propped up in a luxurious hospital bed, looking pale, currently in between contractions. Vegeta pulled up at chair at her side.

“What do I do?” he asked her. He was out of his element, uncomfortable, but he did not want to abandon his wife.

Bulma smiled weakly at him. “Aw, hon, you can wait outside if you want. Call my mother, and Trunks, let them know what’s happening.”

Vegeta didn’t like the sounds of leaving her alone. He took in her fragile appearance, her drawn face, her fingers clutched so tightly over her blanket that her knuckles had turned white. Her blue eyes were filled with pain and uncertainty. She was putting on a brave face, but he could see right through it. “…Is that what you want? For me to leave?” he asked. He would, if that was truly her wish.

Bulma’s smile faltered, and she shook her head. “…No. I’m terrified, Vegeta.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

Her look of sheer gratitude told him he had made the right choice.

Bulma sighed with relief. Putting her hands on her stomach, she laid back against her pillow, waiting uneasily for the next contraction to hit. “I hope our daughter will be okay.”

“She will. The last ultrasound said she was healthy,” Vegeta reminded his wife, convincing himself as much as her. “There’s nothing to worry about. All the other half-breeds have been born without incident. Saiyans are strong. Our daughter will be too… Just like her mother.”

_Please, let her be just like her mother._

Bulma smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you for being here with me. It means a lot.”

“Hn.”

Bulma gasped, sitting up, hunching over her stomach as another wave of pain hit. 

“Aaagh!” she yelled, loudly, guttural. When she could manage it, she grabbed Vegeta’s arm. “Get the doctor!” she gasped.

Vegeta did. 

It all happened so fast. Within minutes Bulma was on her back, screaming, sobbing, a wild, primitive thing with only one objective: to squeeze the damn thing out that was causing her pain. Her eyes were burning, her teeth clenched in agony. She was absolutely feral.

Vegeta was overcome with awe.

She took his hand and he gladly let her have it, amazed with the strength she squeezed it with. He held her arm, their sweaty palms clasped tightly, and for a fleeting moment he was reminded of the times they were tangled up in bed, their hands clasped together much like now. Just such a moment had led them here. 

Bulma curled on the bed, keening, her face damp with sweat and tears, her cheeks flushed from exertion. She was a warrior, fighting the battle of childbirth. She was stunning.

“I WILL MURDER YOU IN YOUR _GODDAMN SLEEP_ FOR IMPREGNATING ME, YOU ASSHOLE!” she shouted at him.

Vegeta smirked, and looked at the nearest nurse. “My wife,” he told her proudly.

 

~xox~

 


	12. A saiyan daughter baby (illustrated)

**On the 1** ** st ** **day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,**

**A Saiyan daughter baby**

 

The room was lit with the soft glow of a nearby lamp. It was so peaceful; strange to think that an hour ago Bulma had been screaming in agony, and the room crowded with medical personnel. Now it was just the two of them.

No. _Three_ of them.

Vegeta stared down at the minuscule thing in his arms. The smallest of scrunched faces pressed snuggly against his chest, a wisp of blue hair sticking out from under her baby bonnet, fey blue lashes closed in sleep. The tiniest of hands, smaller than his thumb, clutched his finger with a grip that made his chest swell in pride.

“She’s still sleeping?” Bulma asked tiredly from her bed. Vegeta dragged his eyes away from his daughter to look at his wife. Bulma was exhausted, but she rested comfortably against her pillows, and her eyes were soft with adoration, watching her husband hold their newly born child.

“Mm,” Vegeta nodded, keeping his voice low.

“Trunks cried and cried when he was born,” Bulma said, reminiscing.

Vegeta felt a flicker of guilt for a memory he should have had. He hadn’t been there for her then, but he was now. He looked back at their daughter. “Tch. The boy takes after you that way. This one is all Saiyan,” Vegeta announced proudly.

Bulma chuckled. “Great. A little girl with my good looks and your bad attitude. Earth is doomed.”

Vegeta smiled, silently agreeing.

“I was considering ‘Bra’, for her name,” Bulma said. “What do you think?”

“You’re asking me?” Vegeta said, surprised.

“Of course. You’re her father.”

Vegeta swallowed back a rush of emotion at that word.

_Father._

His own had been far from ideal, and Vegeta often felt he was undeserving of the title when it came to Trunks. But now he had a chance to redeem himself, to be the father he never had, and never was. On Vegeta-Sei his daughter would have been a princess. She would have taken on a traditional name, Pimka perhaps, or Veta. She would have watched elite soldiers fight to the death over her hand in marriage, maybe fought them herself to test their worthiness. She would have married the strongest one with her father’s blessing… and she would have been miserable. Though Vegeta would never admit it, time spent traversing the universe, and living on Earth, had taught him that his race, while powerful, wasn’t perfect. A daughter of his deserved more. She deserved to choose her own path. And she deserved someone who would treasure her, not just for her strength, but for who she was, and provide her with the emotional support she needed. Bulma had taught him the merit of that, and he wanted it for both of his children too.

Not for the first time, Vegeta felt thankful to be free of his old life, for both his sake, and his family’s.

“Bra,” Vegeta said, trying the name on his tongue. It felt right. A good Earth name.

Bulma smiled, reaching out and placing her hand on his knee.

A moment later there was a gentle knock on the door. It opened a crack, and Goku popped his head inside. “Hey you guys, how is everything?”

“Get the fuck out, Kakarot,” Vegeta told him, keeping his voice was soft, not bothering to look Goku’s way, still raptly watching his daughter breathe.

“Is Trunks with you?” Bulma asked Goku.

“Yep, he’s out here with Goten and Chi-Chi,” Goku told her. “He’s excited to meet his little sister.”

“Bra,” Vegeta said. “Her name is Bra.”

“Bra! Awesome, I’ll let Trunks know,” Goku said cheerily. “Can I get you two anything?”

“You can _get the fuck out_ ,” Vegeta growled again, putting a little more force into his threat this time.

Baby Bra stirred, but didn’t wake, clutching Vegeta’s finger tighter.

“Okay, okay, sheesh, Vegeta, I see fatherhood hasn’t softened you any. I’ll leave you two alone.” Goku started to close the door, then paused. “Oh, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Son,” Bulma called after him as he left. 

The door snicked shut. Bulma’s eyes fell shut, ready to fall asleep.

Vegeta held little Bra close, and leaned in, kissing his wife’s temple. 

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Bulma murmured to him.

“Merry Christmas.”

 

~xox~

 

**Beta-read in part by Artephile/Marcella-Duchamp. All mistakes/typos are of my own doing since I left this to the last minute to give to her to check over, haha, oops.**

Fanart by  **[Rutbisbe](http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/156754432676/rutbisbe-fanart-i-did-for-ladyvegeets-s-12-days)**  :

[ ](http://s1079.photobucket.com/user/ladyvegeets/media/OtherFanart/RutBisbe_12Days_tumblr_okqyw3YoDT1qdqbueo1_1280_zpso5xor93v.jpg.html)

**Thanks to you all for your amazing comments and support. Boy, am I exhausted, trying to get this done in time for Christmas. Sorry I haven’t replied to any of you yet, I was prioritizing getting this written and doing family/holidays stuff too. But please know that I read every single comment and it meant the world to me. Every comment is a little Christmas present of joy. :)**

 

**Happy Holidays and New Year to those of you who celebrate it, in whatever capacity that you do. Well wishes, love and peace to you all. ^_^**


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